


Echo Sensation

by Jarakrisafis



Category: Transformers Generation One
Genre: M/M, Sticky Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-02-12
Updated: 2012-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-30 23:49:09
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/337570
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jarakrisafis/pseuds/Jarakrisafis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Medics have sensitive hands. Jazz has large amounts of curiousity. Mix and stir well.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Echo Sensation

"So what exactly was it you wanted my help with?" I stare at Jazz over the top of my energon cube as I make myself comfortable on his couch. An 'experiment', he had said as we left the party in the rec room, and my curiousity had me following him back to his quarters.

He tilts his helm back, draining the last of his highgrade before heading over to stand in front of me. "I want to know just how sensitive your hands are." 

I have to replay the sentence just to be sure, but no, I definitely heard him correctly the first time. Then again, he's always been that blunt, at least once he gets to know a mech. "Am I too assume you want a..." I smirk, "hands on demonstration." 

"Definitely." He all but purrs. 

I toss back the last of my cube and follow him towards his berth, not what I had planned for the evening, but not something I was going to turn down. 

He lets me settle down before straddling my larger frame with a grin, one hand tapping at my dataport. "I need to record the data." He ignores my buzz of static and instead schools his features into perfect sincerity. "For science." 

I shake my helm as he connects us, the two leads snapping into our dataports, and I can feel his amusement and anticipation as he takes one of my hands. His fingers wrap around mine, gently kneading and massaging at the joints and seams as he focuses on the data I am feeding him. 

"How do you cope with this all the time?" He asks as I relax under his ministrations, feeling what little tension there is still in my frame ebbing away. 

"Got used to it." I've never known any different, I've always had a medical frame and the lack of data I can sense from Jazz is equally strange. 

"Oh!" I smirk as he pulls his helm away to stare at my fingers with a strange fascination before promptly lowering his mouth again, suckling on them one by one. "No wonder you like to touch so much when we 'face." He finally says as he switches hands, his fans whirring gently as his engine revs. 

Belatedly I realise that my own cooling system has turned on as the feedback starts to create a loop of pleasure between us. Reaching my free hand up I start to explore his frame, slowly, making sure I transmit all the data, relishing in the shudder it brings about as I brush across sensor nodes, light discharges of static tingling across my fingers. 

"Slag Ratch. You could have told me about this before. What have I been missing?" I laugh, reclaiming my hand as he turns his attention to keeping himself from sprawling across my frame. I'm quite used to the sensitivity of the data but to Jazz it must be quite intense. 

"Open up and I can show you what you're missing." I barely finish my sentence before his panel has opened, his spike already pressurising and lubricant gathering in his valve. My first touch is soft, to me a barely there pressure against my fingertips, but he whimpers, his armour rattling before the feedback loop slams into me. That single touch interpreted by his systems as a jolt of pleasure and he pushes his hips towards me. 

"Ratch. More. Please." I am only to happy to oblige him, slowly pushing one finger into his valve, sinking into the sensations and bundling them all up into the data I am sending, all the little things that I feel as commonplace. The smooth ribs on his valve walls where plates overlap to create the pliable walls, the gentle bumps containing sensor nodes, the feeling of slick moisture and warmth seeping into my plating. 

I am truly unprepared for the response as Jazz all but collapes onto my frame, a static whimper escaping his vocaliser as the feedback turns my vision white for a moment. "Frag." I move my finger and his engine hitches as he repeats his previous statement. "Frag!" 

I lift my free hand to his face, a silent entreaty as I add a second finger to his valve, letting him rock his hips, his valve rippling as he tries to clamp down on me. The warmth of his mouth around my fingers and the gently teasing nips along the transformation seams making my engine rumble as I open my own panel, letting my spike slide free, releasing the building pressure. 

"Ratchet." My name is almost a wail as he grinds his hips against my hand, electrical charge sparking between our frames and dancing between us. And even without the feedback I don't think I would last much longer, not with his valve rippling and clenching around my fingers. 

He buries his helm against my neck as I add a third finger to his valve, the stimulation proving to much as he bites at the wiring between my armour, muffling whatever sound he may have made. I have no such compunction, as charge washes over my frame and the feedback from his overload slams into my processor. 

"I think the experiment was a success." He finally says as I slide my fingers free of his valve, neither of us making any effort to get up just yet. 

"We need to clean up." He eventually says as he stretches, lubricant and transfluid drying on both our frames. "I have to wonder though, what does cleanser feel like on your hands?"


End file.
